


you save everyone (but who saves you?)

by lunasasylum



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, More warnings inside, and Roman and Dean like each other too, and Roman likes reader, basically everybody is in love, but it gets better, dean likes Reader, i don't what this turned into, mentions of abuse, this also kind of angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasasylum/pseuds/lunasasylum
Summary: It meant he'd be met with a chorus of jeers following everything he did. And that really wasn't anything he was up for tonight, and as much as he tried to steel himself, they always found their way in through the pinhole sized cracks in his armor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In later chapters, there will be mentions of domestic abuse,  
> -  
> I also kind of barely revised this, oops, I'll proof it one day...

Philadelphia was not an easy city by any means. The fans could be loud and rambunctious, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing all the time. Not good for Roman, especially. It meant he'd be met with a chorus of jeers following everything he did. And that really wasn't anything he was up for tonight, and as much as he tried to steel himself, they always found their way in through the pinhole sized cracks in his armor.

“Hey, fuck them man. You go out there and do what you gotta.” Roman wants to listen to Dean, and it would make his life a lot easier (only in this instance) if he did.

But, when his entrance music starts, he knows what's following shortly after. And just as wave of boos is started up, it's smothered by the clapping and cheering, and joyful screams of his name. Running out on instinct, Roman looks around at the crowd and he sees it.

Hoards of signs bearing his name or symbol, and those who weren't carrying a sign wore a shirt with his name on it, some official, some homemade, but all with the right idea.

“I love you!”

The chants started, and as much as he strained to listen for the hissing in the midst of it, he couldn't hear them as well as he used to.

“Get ’em Roman!”

They seemed to be directing him to the stage, encouraging his interference. Just as he made his way down the ramp, a young woman caught his eye.  
She was holding a sign above her head, and screaming his name so hard he knew her voice would the next morning.

“Roman Reigns Defense Squad!”

Glancing at her shirt, he saw the words “Protect Roman” drawn on, with a picture of him smiling underneath.

And they kept it up. Scream of praise followed everything he did, and as he ran Owens out the ring with Jericho, they chanted for him. Even Seth smiled, slightly surprised.

“Philly loves you again, huh?” He asked as they walked backstage, sweat dripping down their backs.

Roman smiled, “Something like that.”

After the show finished, he waited for to exit, but she hung back. She made sure the group got into their cars safely and Roman heard her asking for calls when they reached home. The parking lot was nearly empty by the time she saw everyone off.

Walking up to her, he made sure not to startle her when he approached.

“Hi, uh, I'm Roman, but I'm pretty sure you already know that.” She smiled up at him, nodding as she slid her sign into the backseat of her car.

“Yeah, I do.”

Roman paused for a bit, while she leaned against her car. “Did you organize that tonight?”

She nodded sheepishly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ears. “I think I kind of had to, I know Philly's not the easiest city for you.”

“It doesn't seem like any city's easy for me.” He jokes, laughing when she chuckles at him.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood up a bit straighter. “So we made something to help you out a little.”

“The ‘Roman Reigns Defense Squad’?” He looked at the sign in her car.

“Yep. There's 'bout a couple thousand of us, and most of us can travel around, so when you have a hard city, there'll be enough of us there to support you.” She proclaims, happily. “You're a great wrestler, and we're all pretty sure you're a great person. And, you don't deserve the hate you get. You're just a small bean who's too good and too pure this world.”

She rambles out the end so fast, he almost doesn't catch what she says. “Did you just call me a bean?”

Running a hand through her hair, she nods. “Damn straight.”

He smiles at her. A real, honest to God, Roman Reigns smile. White teeth and all.

“Thank you for doing this.”

Shaking her head, she opens the back door and pulls out the sign. Leaning inside, she finds a pen and scribbles something on the back of it. She hands him the sign and throws the pen back inside her car. “If you need your Defense Squad, call me. There's always enough people to rally up in whatever city you need us.”

Sliding into her front seat, Roman hangs on the open door, watching as she started her car.

“I mean it Roman, don't hesitate to. Protecting you is literally what we're here for.”

* * *

 “Yeah, dude it was like a few rows of them. And they had planned it out too! They all screamed and brought signs and damn.” Roman smiles as he relays the events of that night to Dean as he gets ready to sleep. “This girl, she organized the whole thing. She was wearing a shirt that said to protect me and shit. Like, they did this shit for me, man.”

Chuckling, Dean laughs at him. “Really?”

“She called me a small bean.”

As much he wanted to write it off and toss it to the side, he could admit (at least to himself) that he did need protecting and this girl went out of her way to do that for him. It was a little bit surreal to him.

Typing her number into his phone, he knew that his mind was running too fast for him to go to sleep.

He waited with bated breath as the phone rang. She answers on the second ring.

“Hey.” He breathes, wondering why she wasn't sleeping.

“Hey.”

“You're up.“

“Just making sure everyone's home and safe.”

“You protecting everyone now?”

“Only the people who need it.”

“What makes you think I need it?”

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes, but her voice stays the same. "I think it's just nice to know that they're are people in your corner, regardless of the outcome. And we're in yours, Roman." Her voice is sturdy in a way that seems to contrast her size in comparison.

“Thank you. Y'know, you didn't have to—” He begins, not sure how to properly thank her.

Sighing, he can imagine her waving him off. “Maybe not, but I wanted to. So I did.”

There's a quiet pause, where he listens to the light sounds of her breathing, liking the way she doesn't question the silence.

“So where'd you grow up?” It's lame and they both know it, yet she doesn't say it. She doesn't even laugh at his poor attempt at maintaining conversation.

”Detroit. The Motor _fuckin'_  City, man.” She laughs, and she's proud of it too. “It feels like everythin's been abandoned, an' I still live there.”

He's just as surprised as he sounds. “Really?” It was a bit too hard to believe, she just seemed too... _dainty_ for Detroit.

“Yeah, I can't never seem to leave this bitch.” Her voice is light and he can still hear the heaviness packed in her words. As much as he tried not to over analyze it, he noticed how her diction changed when she talked about her home. Where she was soft, the edges seemed to have turned hard and jagged. Maybe Detroit did that to you. Cincinnati did that to Dean. "There's nothin' much left here."

Brushing it aside, he tries to keep up his end of the conversation. "So why don't you leave? Move somewhere else?"

"I can't. I mean, I can, but I  _can't_ , I spent my whole life here. I don' really know nothing else." She inhales slowly, taking her time with her words. "There's a buildin' down the street from where I live. When I was younger, I spray painted the words 'Zomebieland' across the top, an' it's still there. Nothin' changes, not over here."

She clears her throat, seeming to shake back into herself. "What about you?" For some reason, he can picture her sitting up straighter and pushing away whatever just came up.

Roman fidgets with the comforter on the bed. "Florida was pretty great. The whole state's really chill, y'know? Good food, good music, good people."

Her laughter is loud and rolls over itself, another contradiction to her appearance. It's a whole minute before she can contain herself enough to talk to him. "I'm so sorry," She snorts again, barely controlling another fit. "You just sound like some corny review on a trip advisor website." But, her laugh is funnier than the actual joke and that makes him laugh too. "It sounds like a nice place though."

"It is. We wear flower shirts and khaki shorts everyday, it's a party state, really." His sarcasm earns another loud bark of unhinged laughter from her, something he really enjoys.

 They talk for hours, he paces and rolls and burrows around while they talk. By the time they're finished, sunlight is streaming through the heavy hotel curtains.

"Love, I've really gotta go now. It's a nine hour drive back to Detroit. I need some Red Bull and a bagel before I get back on the road." Her voice hasn't changed at all, not even in the six or seven hours they've been talking. She's calling him 'love', a habit he started hearing around two or three in the morning, Roman's not too sure, at one point the hours just blurred into each other.

He doesn't want to hang up on her at all, she's just too much fun to talk to, and she laughs almost as much as she breathes. Every sarcastic comment and quip earned a chuckle from her, and that made him feel more accomplished in one night than every other match in the month.

"You're driving? Darling, you can't. You haven't gotten any sleep." Roman isn't sure where the name comes from or why he chooses it for her, but it's off his tongue before he can bite it back.

"I wonder why." She deadpans. "Don't worry, I'll be fine Roman."

He's silent for a few minutes and then relents, knowing that she won't give in. "Okay, but call me when you get home. And halfway through, and any time you stop."

She pauses, he can feel it, and he wonders if he pushed it too far. "I'm joking—"

"No, I will. I'll call. It's just weird being on the receiving end of the conversation."

It stings a little because he knows she's being honest, and knowing that nobody went out of their way to make sure she got home safe hurts him.

"Okay. Pull over if you get tired, don't drive drowsy, okay?" He warns and this part feels so domestic he's tempted to end the conversation with an 'I love you and I'll see you when you get home.' But she's not his wife, and she's not coming home to him or vice versa.

She nods, even though she knows he can't see her. "I promise. What about you? You've been up all night with me..."

"I won't have to start driving till tomorrow afternoon. I was going to stay to watch Smackdown tonight for Dean." He usually stays in town for the night to watch Dean anyways, and tonight the bonus will be getting to make sure she's home safe.

"Ambrose!" He's happy to her excited exclamation, it's a good thing that she likes Dean. "Wish him luck for him."

Roman smiles, running a hand through his hair. "You part of his defense squad, too?"

"'Course I am. I don't know if he really needs it, but I am." She's moving around a lot, presumably packing up her stuff to get going.

"He needs it. He just won't say it." 

"I'm on your side, both of you."

* * *

 "Darlin'." Roman doesn't even let her speak first when she answers the phone on the first ring. 

There's some shuffling and small bump, and then what sounds like a door shutting before she whispers, "Roman?"

"I need your help." Normally, he wouldn't be so blunt, he'd wait for her to gather herself, and then ask, but he was pressed for time. When she grunts, he takes it a sign to continue. "Smackdown's gonna be in Cincinnati on Tuesday."

"So?" Then he hears what is probably a smack, followed a by a hoarse, "Oh, crap."

Roman sighs and continues, "He just told me yesterday."

"N' you wan' me ta' go?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, she doesn't need to wait for him to answer. "I would Roman, but would he even wan' me there? Does he even know me?"

"Yes, he knows you! I talk about you all the time," Roman pauses when he realizes what he just admitted, and then continues talking. "I told him that you'd be in the area, and that it'd be really cool if you met him, and that you'd like to meet him, and  _please_ , Darlin'."

She knows that he doesn't need to beg, she would've gone regardless. "I'm gonna' go, Roman, 's just really last minute, I mean I ain't even—"

"Already took care of everything. Hotel, room, and he'll meet you out on the side so you can get in for free." But, she hates hand outs, and Roman knew that as he was telling her. "This isn't charity, I'm asking you to do something for me, and I'm supplying you with the means to do it."

And Roman's sure she can't talk her way out of what he just said, because they both know it's true. 

"Yeah, 'kay."

Just like that, everything's right again, and he feels like the air's been let back in his lungs.

* * *

 

Cincinnati's cold this time of year, but then again, so is Detroit. 

"C'mon inside, ya' look half frozen already." Dean's voice is gruff, but his words are nice, so she follows inside, smiling. "He talks about ya' a lot, y'know."

"It's probably all lies." His steps stutter a bit when he hears her speak, her words contrast largely with her tone. She's tiny, but in comparison to him, a lot of women are. She sounds like the people do in his neighborhood, rough and battered but not externally. Yet, her smile is genuine.

Chuckling, Dean shakes his head. "Ro can't lie, he's tha' worst at it."

"I know." She laughs, pulling her hands out of her pockets. "Even over the phone, it's real easy to tell when he's lyin'."

"Detroit, right?" He asks, not able to pull himself away from her thick words.

Nodding, she takes a hand through her hair. "East side."

"I've been there before, 's a pretty empty place." He admits, wondering if she could even survive in East Detroit.

"Mhm, it's all I know."

There's a pause where he turns around to look at her, and though it was easy to write her off as too fragile, he could see it.

It took a little bit of time, but if you knew what you were looking for you could find it. The light, faded blue and green bruises on her small knuckles were the first tell. A sign that she fought, maybe not hard but a lot, or maybe hard but not a lot, either way, those were the kinds of bruises that didn't go away so quickly. Then, it was the quick movements of her eyes, surveying over the entire space around and behind him, looking for the best possible exit, should anything go wrong.

But, the most present was the shifting. It was hard to see that she was doing it, it was so minute you almost couldn't tell. Some part of her remained in constant motion, even if she had stop walking. Her fingers touched her palm in a near rhythm, her weight changed legs, like she was preparing herself for something. 

She worried her lower lip, maybe a habit, maybe because he was looking at her too long, but the skin was going raw. So, she forced herself to pull away from it.

"What?"

Turning back around, Dean leads her to his dressing room. "Uh, TV's there, and I won't be going on for a few hours so we have time, if you wanna eat."

"I'm not hungry." 

And Dean, hates to judge, and it's not like he has freaking  _x-ray vision_ or some crap like that, but she is thin. The kind of thin that makes people worried, the kind that looks like she might just get picked up if the wind blows too hard in her direction. Still, he doesn't say anything. Maybe she doesn't shake because she's a street girl, maybe she shakes because she's cold. Always cold.

"So, East Detroit. That's not an easy place to live."

She chuckles, a light thing that shouldn't come when they're talking about a city where you could get killed for the gold tooth in your mouth. "I mean it's not freaking New York, New York or some crap like that, but you learn to survive. Maybe it made me strong or some motivational shit like that."

"Y' fought?"

"Had to."

Her reply was quick and it took no thought, and that might have  _messed_ him up a bit, because damn it she shouldn't have had to fight. Someone should have been protecting her, she should have been able to leave. A lot of things should have happened, but they didn't and she's here with him, and that's what matters.

"Y' good?"

"Of course I am." Dean snorts, probably on accident, most definitely not as quietly as he thought he had because she looks at him indignantly. "What? I'm supposed have my most of my teeth missing and barbed wire coming out my ass to look like a good fighter?"

That makes him laugh because the image conjured up in his head is just about the funniest thing he's ever imagined. "No, you're just...I dunno."

Thankfully, she's not offended, and he's still laughing. "I know."

"I get it. Fightin's not about who's bigger or who's stronger."

_"It's about who's hungrier."_

He flinches when she says it, only because it's true and he's told himself that when he goes up against guys twice his size. It's always been true. You could have the size and strength, but if you didn't want as much— _more—_ than your opponent, it wouldn't matter.

"Best fight?" She asks, like she's talking about something as casual as clothes or food, not how well he was knocked around or knocked some guy around.

Leaning back, he scratches his beard, thinking about it momentarily before sitting forward again. "My first fistfight. Guy kept swearing he was knocking me out, and I just kept fucking getting back up, like a roach or some shit like that. Felt like hours before it was over...busted my lip, my ribs, my hands hurt like hell, his jaw had to be made of steel. But, when it was over, I got up and walked away, unaided."

 "And the other guy?" 

"Dunno, never saw him again after that."

She chuckles, not the least bit afraid of him, and that made him happy. She didn't recoil once, never flinched, her whole gaze was unwavering. "Understandable."

"You?"

 It barely takes her a minute to recall the fight time. "Alley way between two stores. It's freezing cold out, it's around two, maybe three, in the morning. I'm on my way to the store, and I hear this guy, this asshole beating up on this god knows what. Against my better instinct, I go to see and it's this little girl, probably only about 11 or 12, and this dude's about twice her size. So, me, just not thinking, I kinda fling myself at him, full-bodied and all, and the little girl runs off, and I'm left alone with him. He's got, easily, 100 plus pounds on me, and I'm like, "Damn, what a heroic way to die.", seriously."

She pauses to let Dean laugh and when it tapers off, she continues. "So, he flings me against the bricks, like I weigh nothing, and he's growling and shit, punching me in the ribs. So I kick, no style or aim, I just fucking kick. Finally, and I hit something, because he's doubles over, and then I bite—"

 "You bite?"

She nods, confirming he heard her correctly.

"I bite. Probably his neck, the first time, I bite and twist, hoping to God that this doesn't turn him on in some way. And I kick again, until he finally rolls on the ground, and by then, I should have walked away, I should have counted it as a victory and left...but, I keep thinking of this asshole hitting that little girl, knowing she couldn't defend herself. And then I'm kicking him again, and punching, and kicking, and then I hear this crack, and I'm hoping that I broke something. Then I leave the alley, and go to the store, bruised the fuck up and bleeding like hell."

"Slugger, huh? Must have one of helluva right foot."

And when she laughs, it's a light and rolling thing, one that should not follow her after the story she's just told him. But, it does and it makes him smile, and kind of makes his insides turn over in a way that he could recognize.

* * *

"Did you call her?"

"I've been calling her for _hours_."

This was not an exaggeration. Dean had been ringing her cellphone for the better part of three hours now, and she wasn't answering the phone. Roman exhaled harshly, running his hands through his hair.

"Do you think something happened to her?"

It was here where Dean was supposed to assure him that nothing bad could happen, but he doesn't. Roman snaps his head up to look at him, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Shrugging, Dean rubs the back of his neck taking a seat next to the nervous wreck. "She lives in inner city Detroit, Ro. It's not exactly the Hamptons or some shit like that. It's rough, man, it's like where I lived."

That makes a worried shiver pass through Roman's body. "We have to find her."

"How? We don't know where she lives."

Roman nods, but continues. "But, she's told us enough about it that we can figure it out, right? She said she spray painted on a building down the street from her house..."

Normally, Dean would dismiss this entire idea, but he's just as desperate as Roman is to find her. "In her neighborhood, most of the houses are gray and boarded up, hers is the only one that isn't, that what she told me."

"We can go through the messages, see if she said anything else. Dude, we gotta go."

Dean grabs his keys and his jacket, "Let's go then."

Neither of them are in any shape to drive, but she's more important than anything else in the world right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Playing super sleuth was not easy, and it was not fun.

"It's cold."

"It's winter in Detroit."

Roman continues driving, looking up and down the empty streets, not entirely sure what he thought he would find. "Can you go through the messages, aga—"

 _"Clifford!"_ Dean yells out right in the middle of Roman's sentence. The larger man stops the car on the barren road and turns to his friend, raising his eyebrows. "Clifford." He repeats, this time smacking his forehead and sighing. Roman simply waits in silence for him to explain what this great revelation was. "Damn it, Clifford. I thought she was talking about a person, but she meant the place, the streets. Clifford, she lives in some place called Clifford Street." 

Inputting Clifford Street in his phone, Roman waits for some kind of direction to come up and hopes for the best. Everything they had been doing were just shots in the dark, neither knew which part of Detroit would be considered 'east', or which part was considered 'inner city'. All they could do was recall old conversations and see where it took them. It was quickly spilling into the early afternoon and they had already been driving around Detroit for hours.

**"Zombieland."**

Following the sight of the spray-painted crumbling building, he sees rows of houses all boarded up with wood, empty or half torn down. And there, right there, in the midst of the completely vacant street was a tan house, clean on the outside and a car sitting in the drive way.  _Her_ car sitting in the drive.

"Is that...?"

Dean inhales sharply. "I think so." Pulling over on the street next to her car, Roman parks the car, but doesn't get out. They both sit in the car, neither moves. "If she's not in there..." He doesn't finish his sentence, simply looking back out the window towards the house.

"We gotta let her go."

Nodding, they finally exit the car, not ready to face whatever realities await them behind the front door. Hesitating for only a moment, Roman knocks on the front door in three short raps, and steps back. Hearing a bump and some shuffling, the person inside swears when something drops and presumably breaks, as they make their way to the door.

Finally, the door swings open, and—

It's her.

Small, wide-eyed, mouth open in surprise. It's her. She's okay. She's safe. Without thinking, Roman wraps her up in an almost bone-crushing hug, and sighs in relief when she reciprocates.

Pulling back and catching her breath, she looks at the men standing in front of her. "What are you guys doing here? How'd you find me?" Stepping aside, she gestures for them to come inside. Shutting the door behind her, she leads them into her kitchen. Something was simmering in a pot on the stove, and the entire house smelled like food, and that was just too pleasant for them to ignore.

Dean scratches the back of his head. "We missed you, we've been callin' and stuff, but you haven't been answering. So, we did some detective type shit and came to find you. Just to make sure you're okay and stuff."

She smiles, but it's not like how it usually looks. It's tighter, a bit darker, it doesn't reach her eyes like it always does. She's wearing a sweater and pants, and even socks, but the heater is on in the house. "Oh, my phone broke and I haven't replaced it yet, so...sorry." 

"It's fine." Roman assures, and she looks grateful. An awkward beat passes where both Dean and Roman take in her appearance. Each notice different things. She looks smaller to Dean, maybe shorter or thinner, but her body shape has definitely changed somehow. She still shakes, it's still minute, you'd have to look hard to see it and Dean was looking hard. Roman, however, sees the dark shadows under her eyes, he notices how she seems to curl into herself, taking up as little space as possible in the wide kitchen. "So, do we get the grand tour?"

Her face doesn't register a definite reaction, but she nods. "Sure." Pulling away from the kitchen, she leads them into the small room just off the side. "This is the living room, where I usually attempt do some of my day to day living and breathing." It's mostly empty aside from a moderately sized TV, a couch, and two single arm chairs.

Walking back down the hall, she pushes open a door. "This is my bedroom, obviously it's really the _centerpiece_ of the entire house." Her room wasn't clean, but it wasn't messy. Clothes and other items were lain around her room, but the bed looked entirely untouched, like she hadn't slept in it at all. Taking a left down the hall, she completely ignores another door they pass, and Dean brings it up.

"What about that room?"

But, she doesn't even stop to look at what he was talking about. "That room's not too important. What  _is_ important, is my dining room." And, of course, she was right. 

It was easily the largest room in the house and contrasted everything they had seen before. It was bright and open, a set of glass doors streamed in the afternoon sun just behind the large dining table. The long, polished table was already dressed and set, like she was expecting company.

"Wow."

"The only thing my mother ever taught me how to do was set a dining table. I have no clue as to why she could never teach me anything  _important_ , but I can do this, and I can do it well." She chuckles, still airy, but short and clipped at the end.

Dean turns to look at her standing in the archway, "Are people coming for dinner?"

She stiffens, almost imperceptibly, but she does, and he notices. "My boyfriend, he's bringing home some co-workers for dinner." And just when she's about to explain further, the doorbell rings. Dipping her head slightly, she backs out of the room and jogs to the door.

"Boyfriend?" Roman mouths.

Shrugging, Dean stuff his hands in his pockets. "She never told me."

Roman finds his way to the kitchen with her, but Dean hangs back in the dining room for a second. He doesn't touch the table but he inspects the glass doors carefully. Digging in his pockets, he slips an old receipt in between the door frame, keeping it from shutting entirely.

Slinking back into the kitchen. he watches as she scoops some of the food from the larger pot on the stove, into a Styrofoam container. There's a woman standing inside with her hair pinned back into a ponytail, she was moderately dressed and waiting. Handing the woman the container, she pauses before releasing. "Listen, Angie, if you're going to do this, you gotta make me a promise." Her voice was stern almost like she was speaking to a younger child, or giving hard directions.

"Anything." Angie says immediately.

"Don't come back." She's looking straight at Angie, gaze unwavering. "Don't look back. Don't call, don't even try and come back here, okay? When you're gone, you need to stay _gone._ "

Nodding furiously, Angie sighs. "I promise. I'm never coming back."

Finally, she breaks into a smile, pulling the woman into a hug. "I love you, alright? Be safe and be smart." 

Angie sniffs a bit and the steps back, kissing on her cheek. "Thank you, Cipher." Stepping out of the kitchen, she exits and presumably pulls off.

Roman and Dean stand in silence for a while before she speaks again, "Are you going to ask?"

"Cipher?"

"Never coming back?"

"What are you doing?"

"Who was that?"

"Cipher?"

Laughing, straight from the bottom of stomach, she shakes her head. "One at a time, boys." Hopping up on her counter, she crosses her legs at the ankles and gestures for them to sit at the chairs behind the counter. Once their seated, she begins speaking. "It's very hard to get out of this damn neighborhood, much less this freaking side of the city. I help people leave, usually just women, sometimes teenagers, it's harder to find somewhere safe for them but I get it done."

"They call me 'Cipher' like 'Cipher' from X-Men, it's stupid really, but it's not safe to use my real name. A lot of the time, the people who'll miss aren't the people you'd want missing you. Angie...she was the last. There's nobody else I know, there's nobody left in this neighborhood but me." 

"Why don't you leave?" Roman finally asks, trying not to stare her down.

"Fear." She answers simply. "I've thought about it a lot. But, I know that I'd come back. Don't know what the fuck I'd do if I left."

There's a warm silence before Dean asks, "Can we stay for dinner?"

Slapping him on the shoulder, Roman lowly admonishes him for seeming inconsiderate, but looks back to her anyways.

Her hesitation is clear and it takes her a few beats to catch up. "Uhm, sure, yeah, if you want. But, I'm a shit cook, so..."

"Who told you that?" Dean interjects, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugs, "Lotsa people." Yet, her face gave away something her words wouldn't.

They continue to talk for a while, the conversation steers back into the lighter topics. She admits that she's been keeping up with them, even if she hasn't been able to contact them. Every once in a while, Dean would interrupt with a seemingly unrelated question, a few times about her suitcases and what she'd usually pack if she going to drive to one of their shows.

"Clothes, Dean." She doesn't sound exasperated, just curious. "Panties, like three bras, and a couple of shirts and jeans. Nothing special."

Looking over her shoulder, she checks the oven time and swears under her breath. "I'm going to take a shower, can you turn off the burner under the vegetables in a few minutes?" She waits for them to give her semblance of a nod before she walks off to her room.

Roman turns to his friend, then slaps him on the shoulder. "Uce, what's going on with you?"

Hesitating, Dean coughs and shrugs. A few moments pass before he finally answers him."I think something's happening, and I could be wrong, I could be really wrong, but I don't think I am."

"What is it?"

"I think her boyfriend's hurting her. I'm not sure if he's _hitting_ her, but I think he's hurting her."

Freezing entirely, Roman doesn't even look like he processed what Dean said to him. After Dean snaps his fingers in front of his face, Roman returns to the present time. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair. "What? How do you know? How would we know? What do we do?"

Getting up to turn off the burner, Dean turns back to look at him. "I just  _do_ , I've seen houses like this, I used to live in a house kind of like this. 'S in the way she talks about herself. She's good at taking care of everyone else, I don't even think she's sleeping in her bed. It's just off in here, Rome. Don't tell me you can't feel it too."

"I do. But, what are we supposed to do?"

"Follow my lead?"

Agreeing, Roman sighs. In any other situation he would ask for more information, more details, more  _something_. But, this isn't any other situation, and if anyone would know, Dean would. And, damn it, it's her, he can't just ignore it, and he knows Dean wouldn't either.

He can practically see the wheels turning in Dean's head, even as she returns from her room, dressed a lot differently than what he's seen her in. She's wearing a skirt, simple and blue, but it's a skirt all the same, a plain white shirt and black shoes.

"Oh, thanks." She smiles when she sees the burner off. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to run out of the shower to see the kitchen half-burned down." Her sarcasm is light and teasing, but it doesn't ease the tense mood Roman's in. "What's up? You guys okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking about the drive back." Dean murmured, watching her as he spoke. She seemed to deflate slightly before catching herself, and straightening up again.

"Of course, make sure you find somewhere to stay, I know it's a long drive." She speaks brightly, like always, but it's easier to see that it's a lot dimmer than usual. 

They spend time laughing and making jokes, but as soon as car pulls into the driveway Dean sees the way her back stiffens and the rise and fall of her chest quickens. The sound of the doors shutting and heavy footsteps seems to make the walls shake, and almost imperceptibly, she presses herself further into the corner, trying to make herself even smaller.

Loud, boisterous footsteps make their way to the door.

Her boyfriend was home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !mentions of domestic abuse!

"Babe! I'm home!" The heavy footsteps make their way to the kitchen and the whole foundation of the house seems to shake with his entrance. Roman notices how she slightly curls behind Dean's frame and it makes his stomach drop.

Her boyfriend is an average-sized man. But, she's a slightly smaller than average woman. He had, easily, a hundred pounds on her, and an entire head to her height. It would be easy for him to take control. It's disgusting that Dean reads it like that, but it was obvious.

His face drops and then sets into nearly unreadable annoyance when he sees the two men in his kitchen. "Babe?" He calls out to her, and she steps forward but not out from behind Dean. "Who are they?"

"This, um, this is Dean, and that's Roman. They're friends of mine." Her voice is small, and it shakes on the word 'friends'.

He nods at her and then smiles. Except, it looks too sharp to be friendly and to Roman his mouth looks like one that could swallow a girl like her whole if she wasn't careful. "Oh, that's nice. You never bring any of your friends home." He extends a hand to Dean and then one to Roman. His grip is strong, but Roman keeps his casual, there's no need to establish his dominance. "Will they be staying for dinner?"

"Yes, we will." Dean answers, tilting his head and setting his eyes dead on him.

A moment of thick silence passes through the room before her boyfriend speaks up again. "Okay, then. Sweetheart," The word sounds tense and it makes her shiver because after all these years she can hear the undertone. "I do have some coworkers coming over tonight as well. I'm going to wash up, I suggest that you get changed."

It's a jab, subtle, but it stings all the same. "Yes, of course." 

He gives a curt nod to Dean and Roman before exiting the kitchen. She turns to get changed when Dean's voice stopped her.

"You look beautiful."

Her head drops slightly. "He doesn't like it, so it doesn't matter." She says it like it's a fact, and it hurts to hear. Her exit is silent and she doesn't leave the same mark when she walks away.

Dean turns to Roman who looks like he's waging an internal war with himself. "Don't Ro." He's already read him up, and knows what the Samoan is thinking. "Not yet, we gotta wait."

"Okay." Is all he's able to get from him.

* * *

 

Her boyfriend's coworkers are all men with personalities like his and it makes Dean sick. They're all loud, forceful, and competing with one another for dominance and attention, while Roman and Dean simply observe. It's not a contest either of them are interested in competing in.

She stays quiet for most of the meal, pushing the food around on her plate and taking small bites. She perks up, or pretends to at least, when her boyfriend feigns adoration over her cooking. Her smiles are short and fake, and it pains them to see her like this. Her smile could brighten up any room, but he made her so subservient she barely made eye contact with anyone at the table.

Surprisingly, it's Dean who makes Roman keep his cool at the darkest moment of the dinner. Her boyfriend, an ashtray of a man, grips her wrist hard enough to bruise when she doesn't answer whatever question he asks promptly. Her face contours slightly in pain, and when she lets out a quiet whimper, Roman nearly blacks out. It takes Dean's strong hand on his thigh to keep him from lunging across the table.

Dinner feels like it lasts for hours and it's pitch black outside when she begins clearing the table. Excusing himself, Dean follows after her.

"Angel." She turns quickly when he calls her, and it makes him smile. But, when his eyes catch sight of the bruise already forming on her wrist, it quickly fades. "Are you okay?"

Shrugging, a dish slips into the soapy water in the sink. "I'm always okay." He tilts his head at her, and he has no time to beat around the bush. "He hits you." It's not a question, he's not wandering, he knows the answer.

"I can take it."

"You shouldn't have to."

Her eyes meet his for the first time since her boyfriend came home. "I have no where to go. I don't—I can't—" Her fists clench and she huffs. "Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? It's his house, his car, and his money, Dean." And it speaks volumes to her state of mind, or the one he put her in. 

"Live with us. We'll take care of you, we'll figure something out. Please, we can take care of you. Please." He's begging and it shakes her to her core. Dean is known for being rough around the edges and listening to him plead is almost unsettling. "We can't leave, not when we know he's hurting you."

Turning away, she groans quietly in her hands and mutters to herself. "How? How will we do this? He won't just let me walk out."

Dean sighs in relief. "Go clear the rest of the table. I'm going to go back to the table, okay? Roman's gonna come and wash the dishes while you pack some clothes. We gotta go tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight." Dean repeats.

She rolls her shoulders and nods. "What if—"

Dean interrupts before she can even finish her thought. "No. We got you. Do you trust us?" 

"I do."

"Then stay calm and go clear the table, Roman's gonna come soon." She listens and goes back into the dining room, as uneasiness rolls through her stomach.

As she picks up her boyfriend's plate, he grabs her hand faking a sweet gesture when he squeezes it takes all she has not to cry out. Roman watches through his eyelashes as she dips down so he can put his mouth to her ear. "We need to talk after dinner." She shakes and takes his plate back to the kitchen.

Roman enters moments after her. "Go pack." He instructs, coming to stand next to her.

But, she frozen with her hands in the water. "Roman, I'm scared." She whispers. "I've been—I've been trying to leave for two years, but I don't know how to stay gone. I keep coming back, Rome. He's everything I know, this town is everything I know."

Pulling her head up, he looks down at her. "Dean and I, we're your defense squad." She smiles, it's nervous, but it's a smile. "Go, darlin'. And trust us, we've got you."

Stepping back, she tiptoes into her room, while Roman loudly does the dishes. There's booming laughter coming from the dining room, followed by pounding on the table. He's almost done by the time she comes back with a suitcase. 

"Ro?" Her voice shakes. Drying his hands, Roman comes to stand in front of her. He doesn't say anything, only kisses her forehead and pulls back. "Okay." He goes to sit back at the table as the room starts to empty. Her boyfriend follows his coworkers to the front door, keeping his back to them. 

Roman takes her bag from the hallway and silently (thanks to Dean's receipt) pushes open the glass doors setting it on the grass outside. Dean stands near the front door, while she slinks back into the dining room. 

"Thanks, man." Dean pats his back sliding out as she slips out the glass doors grabbing her bag. 

Meanwhile, Roman drops a glass plate in the kitchen.

Her (ex)boyfriend follows the sound to find an empty kitchen, shards covering the floor.

* * *

 

"Oh my god. I can't believe this. I left. I'm not coming back." She's half muttering to herself an hour into the drive to their house. "Pull over, pull over, I need to puke."

Dean looks back at her and sees that she's serious. "Ro, pull over."

And he does. She rushes out and empties the contents of her stomach on the side of the road. Dean looks worriedly at her through the window. Roman groans at the sound of her dry heaving.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Roman asks, rubbing his eyes. "I mean...what if she's not?"

"She's going to be okay. She just needs time." Dean assures him, shaking out his hair. "Just some time."

When she climbs back into the car, she lays out across the back seat, pulling Roman's sweatshirt over her quivering form.

The drive back to their house is almost as grueling as the drive to her former house.

Pulling into the house is strangely comforting. Roman lifts her out of the backseat and Dean carries her stuff inside. She's half asleep when Roman lays her down in the guest room. Dean sets her bag by the foot of the bed and exits as quietly as he can with Roman.

Neither of them speak when they go back to their shared room, and get ready for bed. 

It's a thick scream, followed by a loud cry that wakes them up in the night. Rushing to her room, they find her sobbing into her hands. They don't climb into bed with her, however, they sit on the floor next to her bed, waiting for her to fall back asleep. 

The third time she wakes up, she doesn't go back to sleep as fast. Roman and Dean listen as her breathing slows and the hiccups of her sobs taper off.

"After we had moved in together, I—I got these really bad nightmares, ones about like, my sides ripping open and stuff. And, it'd wake him up in the middle of the night, so he told me to sleep in a separate room. And then, he said that I needed to sleep in the car because he had work in the morning and he couldn't sleep when it happened." She explains between sniffles. "I told him I understood, because I did, but—somehow it became more than that."

She shifts around in the sheets to look at them on the floor. "He wanted things to look a certain way and be done in a way, and when it wasn't he'd get mad. So, I made myself look and do things the way he liked them. But, it wasn't enough. I don't know. He just came home angry, at his job, at his family, at me. I didn't know what to do. Every time I tried to leave, I couldn't stay away. I felt like—like..."

"Like it had to be you. Because you could handle it, because it's better that it's you than some other poor girl." Dean finishes as he looks at her for confirmation. When she nods, he reciprocates. "I understand."

Adjusting the sheets, she coughs a bit. "I was scared. Because, I knew he'd probably kill me one day, but— _god—_ he made me feel like I'd die without him."

She falls strangely silent after that. Reaching out her hand, she brushes her fingers slowly over their faces, hoping to convey everything she was unable to say.

_Thank you so much._

_You didn't have to do this._

_I needed this._

_You make me feel safe._

_I love you._

When Dean leans into her touch, she bites her lip, and knows he gets it. Roman's eyes dance until they meet hers. She's okay.

Morning rolls around fast and the sunlight streams in through the open blinds. Hissing, and turning over, she sees that Roman and Dean are still cuddled up on the floor next to her.

* * *

 

The next few days are no where near easy.

First, it's the doctor's appointment that nearly tears her into pieces. They do x-rays and examine almost every inch of her body, displaying all of her terrible secrets.

It's Dean who nearly cries when the doctor points out her multiple healed rib fractures on the chest x-rays, and the yellowing bruises on her lower back. She keeps her head down while the rest of the results are explained, all of her pain displayed for them to see. Bruises that had healed and then formed over on the same spot, fractures that healed, and her below average weight.

The hospital gown falls on her the wrong way and Dean catches sight of the fresh bruises on her shoulders, spanning all the way down to her spine.

"Hun," the doctor pulls her chair to sit in front of her. "Your body's been through a lot, and I know that you've been through a lot with it. But, you're resilient, you keep healing over and over and over again. I'm gonna wrap up your wrist to make sure it heals properly." Pulling out a prescription pad, she scribbles something down. "These are all over the counter, to help set your body back in order. Alright? Just take it easy for the next few weeks."

Then, it was the realization that she was educated, but alone. She was an only child, as far as she knew. Her father walked out when she was little and her mother was a recovering alcoholic. However, she was more alcohol than recovery on any given day. University was a pipe dream, and remained unfulfilled.

She did do two years at community college where she met him. They moved in when she came home one day and found that her mother was gone, no note, nothing left behind for her. 

Her (ex)boyfriend promised to take care of her, and as a result, made her dependent on him. She spent her time trying to please someone who didn't want to be happy.

Finally, it's was her coming to the understanding that she loves them. Not just love, but totally in love. And that's scary. It's possibly the worst thing for her to know. 

She didn't love her ex and she burned her future to try and keep him warm.

It meant that she'd do anything for them.

Saturday comes faster than they expected and it's time for Roman and Dean to get ready to go.

"You can stay here alone?" Roman asks as she combs her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. If he wasn't careful, he'd fall asleep under her touch. "Because, we can fly in and out instead of driving. We'll be here faster." With the recent shakeup, Dean got to back to Raw with Roman, which meant traveling together again. "Or you can come with us?"

She perks up at that, but immediately deflates. "Guys, you don't have to—"

"But, we want to." Dean interjects from underneath her other hand. She was more petting Dean than massaging, and he was enjoying the contact all the same. "We want you with us."

Hesitation is obvious in her voice. She can't let herself want this. "Only if you're sure."

"Yes! Fucking road trip man!" Dean laughed and she couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.


	4. Chapter 4

First it was the nicknames, easily becoming terms of endearment. Nobody was really too sure who started it, but their names were substituted for 'honeys' and 'babes' and most affectionately 'love'.

And they would be damned if she didn't spout the most poetic shit out of nowhere. It was hardly noticeable at first, but as they listened closer to the things she said to them, it was everything short of _'I love you.'_

She was so damn good at taking care of them. They bypassed the medics after matches entirely, going straight for her waiting arms. Her gentle hands moved tenderly over forming bruises and open wounds. 

The little things like clean clothes, warm sheets, hot showers, stuff that both Roman and Dean forgot they loved.

Dean and Roman knew that she was basically unreal. And they told her so.

It was the praise that made her stomach drop out. Their constant verbal affirmation and adoration that made her want to beg for more. They had to know what they were doing to her, it just wasn't  _fair._

Their relationship was undefined, but still almost completely exclusive.

By no means was she a jealous person, yet it wasn't hard to see that Roman and Dean were too fucking beautiful for their own good sometimes. Beautiful and oblivious. So when crew members, makeup artists, hotel clerks, waitresses, and cashiers basically offered them sex, she sat back and gritted her teeth. They didn't belong to her, they weren't dating, but that didn't stop the rapid thud in her chest when she saw eyes lingering.

What she didn't see was that she was just as much theirs as they were hers. She could never see that her smile and laughter caught attention of almost every straight male in the room. She was graceful and humble, and it had Roman and Dean fumbling every time she was close. They were still so unsure around her, how comfortable was she with physical contact, could they hug, what was considered too much?

She was stretched out on the back seat of their rental, hair falling over the edge of the seat, wrapped in Dean's jacket, not quite asleep, when she finally asked them. "Why don't you guys touch me?" It wasn't supposed to come out like that, but at least it's out there. 

The car jerks slightly and Roman glances at Dean who bites his bottom lip. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you guys don't touch me, I mean, it's...nothing, never mind." Her voice goes small, and she tucks into herself in a way that breaks Roman's heart when he sees it.

They finally sit her on a bed in Atlanta, and look down at her, at soft and ethereal in the early morning light.

Dean speaks first. "We don't know what's okay.  _He_ was an asshole. We don't want assume that you'd be okay with us just touchin' you outta nowhere, you know? It's not 'cause we don't want to. We do. It's up to you, angel."

Roman follows with, "We want you to feel safe around us. If you want us to touch, we can touch, if you don't want us to, we won't. Dean and I...we care about you a lot, love."

She sighs, a deep, drawn out one, followed by her burying her face in her hands. "I just thought, you guys didn't wanna... When you do touch me, you don't hurt me. You don't make me sad, I like when you guys touch me. So, if it's okay with you, I'd like if you did it more."

Dean was quick to crush her into a hug that pinned her beneath him. She laughed breathlessly at him.

"Yes," She choked out. "This is perfectly okay."

* * *

 She's all sunshine and sweet, just too damn nice for her own good. 

But, this lady was taking things too far. And this is one of those days where she realizes she's more passive than aggressive. She wishes she wasn't, she wishes all bite  _and_ bark, wishes she could stand up and say something. But, this lady's hands are all over Dean, and it's making her skin crawl. Roman's smiling, his big, stupid, pretty Roman smile, and she's wondering if she'll get a headache from rolling her eyes any harder.

Her hair is blonde, like the pretty blonde that makes people wonder if it's natural; her eyes, are blue, the sweet kind, the calming kind; and her hands, her fingers are manicured, a pale blue color that looks really nice trailing down Dean's arm, and on top of Roman's wrist. And she can't even remember the lady's name, she's been calling her Blondie in her head.

And, suddenly, a sick image of Roman and Dean touching this  _lady_ , petting her, in bed with her, runs through her head and she's sure she's going to be sick. Standing up slowly, she slinks out the back door of the arena and braces herself for the chilly November air. It hits her and surrounds her and the sudden flashback of sleeping in her car fills her vision.

She freaking hates the cold.

But, she's not jealous and if they like Blondie, they can have Blondie. And she'll just take a walk. 

Still, she only reaches the parking lot before she's shivering and wishing she'd stayed inside. Something warm falls over her shoulders and she immediately shrugs it off. Whipping her head around, she's face to face with a sheepish Seth Rollins. He bends down to pick up the jacket and smiles at her.

Even in the dimly lit night, she can see he's blushing. "S-sorry." Seth Rollins does not  _stutter_. "You were just shaking and I saw you walk out w-without a jacket and I...sorry."

"It's fine. Can I um, still...?" He nods, handing her the jacket. It's warm on her skin and pulls a warm smile out of her. "Thank you."

He chuckles and then hisses sharply. "Do you, like, ahem, are you hungry?"

She doesn't respond and it's long enough for him to overthink. "Or you're not. You're probably waiting on Roman and Dean, and I'm just going to be going now." Despite everything like her terrible anxiety and inability to start conversations, the few she's had with Seth have always been revealing. She's not scared of him, she never has been, and never will be.

Grabbing his elbow with the tips of her fingers, she stops him from leaving. "No, yeah, I could eat."

"What about Dean? And Ro?" She thinks back to the Blondie and how there are hundreds more just like her, and there always will be hundreds more just like her; more importantly, there's nothing she can do about it.

"They won't miss me."

So, Seth walks with her to a restaurant, small, but cozy. And she forgot how much she loved sitting down to eat. She's not cold, but she keeps his jacket on.

"Are you okay?" She asks him all the time and he's never hesitated except for now. He recovers quickly, and opens his mouth to answer, but she interrupts. "Do not lie to me, Rollins."

He shakes his head and chuckles into his tea. "I'm just exhausted. Mentally, physically, there's just so much to do."

It's a loaded answer, and he immediately winces when she tilts her head. Still, she knows what he's going to say before he says it. "Rollins, if you apologize to me again, I will hurt you."

"I just try not to unload on people." He sighs.

"We're friends, Seth. I'm not sure if you're very familiar with the term or the relationship. But, friends, like us, normally hang out, make jokes, enjoy one another's company and such. And, if a friend has a problem, they're able to talk about it without being judged. That is how friendships work, okay?" She giggles and he chuckles back at the sound. "Sethie? Can I call you Sethie?"

Seth scoffs and rolls his eyes, but nods. "Yeah, whatever, okay."

"Sethie, we," She gestures between the two of them. "Are friends. And if you have a problem, I would like to hear about it."

He nods and then tucks a hair behind his ear. A gesture she finds oddly endearing. "Well, you kind of solved it. I've just been alone. For a really long time. I mean, I know I'm not the most approachable person in the world—"

"Maybe it's because you're so freaking beautiful." She murmurs, shaking her head in disbelief. Seth raises a questioning eyebrow, silently asking her to repeat. "Oh come on, Seth! You're like six-one, you have a smile that can literally grow flowers—are you blind?"

And then Seth  _blushes_ , like a deep pink flush that spreads over his cheeks and straight down his neck. "Oh." The sound pops out of him involuntarily. "Is that a thing friends say to each other?"

"Sometimes." She shuts her mouth as their food comes and he doesn't bring it up again.

For the rest of the night, they talk and laugh, they eat and drink, and for a while she forgets why she was unhappy.

But, as the morning starts to near, Seth yawns.

They walk the 10 blocks back to the hotel giggling and chuckling, and eventually shoulder to shoulder. When she reaches her room, he smiles down at her. "You have your key?" She nods, reaching in her back pocket to pull out the card. "Well, g'night."

Taking her time, she pushes two fingers cautiously to the inside of his wrist. It was the most she could touch him without freaking out. "Good night."

He walks off down and the hall as she unlocks her door and pushes herself into her hotel room.

"Where have you been?" The voice was deep and startling and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard it.

Spinning, she pressed a hand to her chest. "Shit! You scared the hell out of me." 

Roman stood next to Dean, who's hair looked a total mess. "Where have you been?" Roman repeated.

She felt like she was child, getting caught sneaking back to the house after curfew. "I was out, with a friend." She slipped out of her shoes, and tied her hair up with the elastic on her wrist. "It's only..." She paused to look at her watch. "Shit, 1 in the morning. I swear I didn't know it was that late." She somewhat apologized, shrinking back in her jacket.

Seth's jacket.

Once the realization fell over her face, she knew why they were agitated. His emblem was across the back. It was obvious.

"You were out with Seth?" Dean mumbled and the look on his face tore her apart. "What? Why?"

"It's not like that, we were just talking." She muttered feeling more perpetrator than victim. "We just talked."

Roman placed his hands on hips. "Why did you leave?"

That's when she remembered the crappy feeling that bubbled in her stomach when she saw Blondie. "I don't want to talk about this, I need a shower." Being outside and walking in the winter temperatures had worked up a layer of cold sweat on her skin. "He's just my friend, okay? We're just hanging out." 

"Why? Do you want to be with Seth?" Dean spat, looking more hurt than angry, that still didn't take the sting out of his words.

She turned on her heel. "What? What did you just say?" Something white and hot flared up in her eyes and even Roman recoiled a bit. "Are you suggesting that I'm sleeping with him?"

Dean shrugged and look down at her. "I don't know."

"How can you say that? You know how I feel about you two!" She bellowed, louder than she's ever spoke. "You know I'm fucking in love with you two! So, don't act like it's not the most obvious thing in the world!"

Roman's mouth dropped open and Dean froze in his spot. "I didn't..."

"I need a shower." She pushed into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind her, she slid to the floor, mentally berating herself for saying it out loud. 

 _She said it out loud_.

Turning up the water to scald, she let steam fill the bathroom before stripping and stepping in the shower. The hot water allowed her skin to warm and she finally stopped shaking. She heard Roman and Dean talking, but she couldn't make out much besides her name.

When the water began to turn to cold, she exhaled and turned off the shower. Wrapping a towel around herself she went to look in the mirror.

Most of the bruises had faded, and there were wounds that had healed, but the scars...they were there.

Physical and emotional.

She was no good for them, she was too unstable, too fragile, too unsure, too _everything_.

Steeling herself for whatever came next, she opened the bathroom door. 

Roman and Dean were sitting on the bed, still talking but stopped the second she came out.

"Baby girl..." Dean started.

"I'm sorry," She whispered. "For yelling, and walking out with Seth, and for getting jealous. You're. Not. Mine. I can't...I don't have any claim to either of you. I'm sorry."

Dean slowly walked towards her. A cautious hand touched her face. Sliding to cup her face, Dean shook his head. "It's okay. I'm not good with...I can't afford to lose you." Leaning to press his forehead against yours, he whispered. "You mean too much to me."

"Lo'u alofa," Roman smiled. "Our naʻo le alofa. Our only love."

He kissed your cheek. 

"My only loves." She whispered back.

Hot tears slid down her face as she allowed herself to be tucked into bed.

Right in between Roman and Dean.


End file.
